Christmas in New York
by TicTactful
Summary: Yes, I finally finished it. Episode 7 in my continuity, featuring Rahne Sinclair with the XMen and Sam Guthrie with the Brotherhood. You saw it here before the WB!, folks! Typical Christmasy fare.
1. Default Chapter

Author's Notes: Hi, remember me? For anyone out there who does, no explanation is necessary; for those who don't (ie, everybody): This is the seventh installment of my X-Men: Evolution series, in my own special continuity wherein Rahne Sinclair (Wolfsbane) is a member of the X-Men and Sam Guthrie (Cannonball) is part of the Brotherhood. (Hey, folks, you saw it here first - even before the WB! did it.) Hope you enjoy. And now, on with the show ... 

  


  


_~X-Men, please assemble in the dining room as soon as it is convenient.~_

Rahne smiled as she finished tucking the corners of her tartan quilt under her mattress. The Professor's tone indicated that the matter was far from urgent, and - could be? - possibly even pleasant. _Will wonders ne'er cease?_ She shrugged into her favorite green sweater and jeans and trotted downstairs. 

  
Once all the X-Men had arrived, Professor Xavier cleared his throat. "As you all know, many of our number will be leaving us soon for the Christmas holiday. Before they go, however, there was one thing I wanted to do with the entire team to help celebrate together. Kitty," he looked at the Jewish girl, "you will not be required to participate if you do not wish to." 

"No, it's cool," Kitty said. "I mean, short of conversion or whatever, I'm game." 

"Very well, then." The professor nodded to Ororo, who handed each student a sheet of paper and a pencil. "Here is what I would like for you to do. Write a letter to Santa." There were a few snickers, but Xavier ignored them. "Ask for your dearest wish - nothing material, just any rational thing you might hope could come true." Still some of the students hesitated to begin writing. Xavier smiled. "Do not worry - I will not read these." 

Finally all the pencils were put to paper. Xavier waited patiently until everyone had finished, then instructed his young wards to give their papers to Ororo, who folded them up and placed them in a basket. "Now - everyone will draw one of the papers from the basket." 

Seven horrified faces gaped at him. "But - but you said-" Kurt stammered. 

The professor raised a finger. "I said _I_ would not read them. I said nothing of your teammates." He paused until they had each grudgingly drawn one of the slips. "I have noticed that many of you do not know your teammates as well as you could - or should. I hope this exercise helps to end that." 

Scott looked up from reading, his expression less than apparent behind his glasses. "Is this all? Can we go now?" 

"Hardly." Xavier gestured toward the papers. "Here is your next assignment, X-Men: make the wishes written there come true, as best you can." 

A chorus of protests erupted from the students. 

"Was?!" 

"-gone stark raving-" 

"-like, I don't even _know_-" 

"-Professor, is this really necessary to-" 

"Enough! I have given you instructions, and I expect them to be fulfilled to the best of your abilities. Oh, and one more thing: there is to be no enlisting help from a teammate who knows your subject better than you do. Understood? Good. You're dismissed." 

  
The expressions on the students' faces were widely varied as they left the room. Jean, wearing a devious grin, ran straight upstairs to her bedroom. Half of the others were looking at one another with expressions that said, "The old man's finally flipped!" and few poor souls - Kurt, Rogue, and Rahne - were simply wandering around with a dazed look. 

  
Rogue dropped into a window seat with a sigh and read again: 
    
    
    _Dear Santa,
    What could I possibly ask for? I have
    a home, family, friends. I lead a
    blessed - charmed? - life. I only
    wish, just once, someone could see
    me as I really am, without being
    frightened. A silly thing, really.
    I hope the Professor lets us stop
    writing soon.
    --Kurt
    _
    

Rogue fiddled with her earrings. _God, Ah feel selfish now. But what can Ah do ta help my own almost-brother?_

  
Kurt was having similar thoughts as he sat in the kitchen, absently munching a cookie and rereading his own note. 
    
    
    _
    Dear Santa,
    I surely hope you know what
    I want. I ask for it every day
    from God, and since he isn't
    answering maybe you can
    help. I want to touch someone
    without hurting them. That's
    not too much to ask, now is
    it?
    --Rogue
    _
    

_She is my foster sister, and I do not even have the faintest idea vhat to do for her!_ Kurt guiltily reached for another cookie. _Now vhat, Wagner?_

  
Evan had retreated to his bedroom, and was now busily rejecting ideas. "I could … no, he'd never go for that. Maybe if I … no, that's gotta be a two-week suspension at least." He looked at the letter again, as if it might contain some previously missed idea. 
    
    
    _
    Dear Santa,
    I'm really happy here at Xavier's
    school. Very happy. I don't know
    what I would have done without
    his help over the years. I just
    wish that, once in a while, I didn't
    have to be the captain. It gets
    really old having to be the stick
    in the mud with the other kids
    sometimes, and I don't want
    them to always see me as the
    bad guy. Besides, I want to have
    some fun every now and then.
    --Scott
    _
    

Evan scratched his head. _Man, ol' One-eye's really down on himself. Well, if anyone can pull the stick outta Cyke's ass, it's Spyke._

  
Scott, in his own room, was chewing the tip of his eraser, trying to brainstorm ideas. The sheet in front of him, however, was still empty. _What am I supposed to say? I feel the same way a lot of times, and I don't even know how to make myself feel better about it. So how am I supposed to help her?_ Sighing, he took up the letter for the tenth time. 
    
    
    _
    Dear Santa,
    I don't usually get much for
    Christmas - the Reverend
    didn't hold much with that sort
    of thing. It's a muckle funny
    thing - as harsh as he could be
    at times, I truly miss the feeling
    of having a family. Well, I dinna
    guess there's much to be done
    about that, unless I marry and
    get some bairns of my own.
    --Rahne
    _
    

_Well, I don't really think I want to marry her and help her out with those 'bairns' of hers,_ thought Scott wryly. _But how am I going to help her solve a problem I can't even solve for myself?_

  
Rahne gnawed at her lower lip, completely at a loss for solutions. _Oh, Jean, why this? There's only one person A ken A could apply this to, an' A dinna fancy the idea._
    
    
    _
    Dear Santa,
    Here at Xavier's, I really
    have everything I could
    possibly want. There's
    really nothing I can think
    of to ask for for myself.
    There is one thing, though …
    The 'reason for the season'
    is about giving, and caring
    about others. I wish more
    people bothered to remember
    that. I wish, even if it's just
    for this short time of year,
    people would try to be kind
    to those they are indifferent
    to - even those they hate.
    Not that that's likely to happen
    any time soon.
    --Jean
    _
    

Rahne groaned. There was no one on her team she hated; nor was there anyone at school she had a particular grudge against. She could even forgive the members of the Brotherhood, for they had their reasons for choosing the team they had, and they had accepted her as one of their own during their last mission. _Except … _

She groaned, realizing who she would have to help. _Sam Guthrie, ye should nae have chosen the Brotherhood over the X-Men - an' ye hurt me well enough in doin' sae. Yet A've delayed far tae long in findin' some f'rgiveness f'r ye in this wicked heart o' mine. All right, Jean; A'll try._

  
Jean was the only one of the X-Men who had a clear idea of what to do for her subject. _Or should I say victim,_ she thought wickedly. _Oh, you're going to regret this, Kitty Pryde._
    
    
    _
    Dear Santa,
    Well, I'm pretty well off and
    stuff, it's not like there's much
    I need. But it would be
    totally great if I could be
    really popular for once. The
    seniors never notice me.
    --Kitty
    _
    

"Muahaha," said Jean, grinning, and checked once more over the list of things she would need. 

  
Kitty tapped her pencil irritably against her desk. _Like, what am I supposed to do with this? We're in the same grade and stuff but I totally don't know enough about him._
    
    
    _
    Dear Santa,
    There's only one thing I
    want, and that's the thing
    I've wanted for my whole
    life: to beat Pietro at
    something. That little
    punk's just too fast for
    his own good.
    _
    
    
    --Evan
    
    

_Gawd, Evan, why'd you have to go and make this so totally hard? What am I supposed to do, glue the guy's sneakers to the floor?_ Kitty suppressed the whine and bent resignedly over her desk, trying desperately to pick a decent idea out of her brain. 


	2. 2

Monday at school, Sam Guthrie shook his head as he opened his locker. The X-Men surely were behaving strangely today. Kurt and Rogue were both avoiding one another's eyes, while Jean was shooting scary predatory grins in Kitty's direction, as Kitty stared moodily at Evan, while Evan gazed off into space. Scott was wandering absently down the hallways, bumping into anyone and anything that got in his way, and Rahne … well, Rahne had actually spoken to Sam in French that morning, which was strange enough. _Did Xavier zap 'em all with a "act like a moron" brainwave or what?_

Shrugging, he began pulling the books for his next classes out of his locker. _History … Brit Lit … hey, what's this?_

A small envelope had fluttered out of his locker to fall at his feet. He picked it up and read the cryptic message. 
    
    
    _
    One of Santa's elves am I,
    Prepared to grant you wishes three.
    Choose your wishes well and wise;
    Leave your reply in the sycamore tree.
    _
    

"What the blazes … ?" Sam shook his head, wondering who could possibly have shoved the note into his locker. _Well, Ah'll come up with somethin', and leave it in the tree. Just ta see what happens._

  
That afternoon after school had gotten out, Kurt wandered into the kitchen, following an interesting smell. "Hey, good-looking. Vhat you got cooking?" 

He was rewarded with a fistful of soggy corn in the face. "Grits!" Rahne howled. "What kind of a fool sumph makes a wish for hominy ruttin' grits!?" 

"Um … a Southern fool sumph, I imagine." 

"Kurt, get out o' me kitchen or A'll hit you with the can opener." 

"Vhat do you mean? I can help you vith the - OW! Vhat did you do that for?!" 

"A warned ye. Now get out!" 

Kurt made a strategic retreat, and Rahne settled in to do battle with the recalcitrant mixing bowl. 

  
Sam yawned and scratched himself as he meandered downstairs. He'd gotten up a little earlier than usual, hoping to beat Freddie to the breakfast food. _Damn. Ah smell something cookin'. He musta been up at the crack of dawn!_

But the kitchen was empty when he got there - empty except for he big steaming bowl of hominy grits on the battered old table. 

_The hell …?_

He sniffed at it, then stuck a finger in it to taste. _H'm … not too far off what Ma makes. And Ah'm not dead yet, so it can't be poisoned or anything, right?_

He retrieved the cleanest spoon he could find and started shoveling the food into his mouth. There proved to be enough to fill even Sam's bottomless sixteen-year-old stomach. Contentedly, he leaned back and patted his full belly - a luxury he rarely enjoyed. 

Quickly he rinsed his dishes, found his schoolbooks, and slipped out the door, careful not to let the ancient hinges creak and wake the other boys. _An interestin' start to the day. Ah wonder who this secret Santa o' mine is, anyhow?_

  
Head down, Scott trudged through the sludgy snow toward school. His backpack was heavy with books and papers as teachers crammed in last-minute assignments before vacation. _Looks like it's going to be a-_

Suddenly he was sent tumbling by an unseen snowball. "Hey!" he screeched, scrambling to his feet. "What was that for?" 

A grinning Evan pelted him in the ear with another snowball. Scott yelped as the flakes trickled down his neck, and in a matter of seconds he was on his feet building his own snowball arsenal. "You're gonna pay for that one, kneebiter!" 

  
Twenty minutes later, he finally caught up to Evan, tackling the freshman into the snow. "Gotcha!" Laughing, they climbed to their feet and dusted themselves off. "That was-" 

Far off down the street, the school bell sounded. Scott fumbled for his watch. "Oh, man! That was final bell! I'm going to get my first tardy!" 

Evan grabbed his sleeve before he could take off. "Waitwaitwait! Don't bother with a lousy tardy!" He fished two tickets out of his pocket. "Wouldn't you way rather go with me to the Ice Crusades?" 

Scott paused. "The college hockey tournament?" Evan nodded. "Skipping school for a hockey game? That would be … totally … irresponsible …" 

Evan grinned. "You got it." 

Slowly Scott grinned back. "Yeah … yeah, that does sound good." The two boys trotted off toward the city. "Thanks, Evan." 


	3. 3

Kitty grumbled silently to herself as she filled her backpack at the end of the day. "Stupid dumb teachers giving me stupid dumb homework … gah …" 

She shut her locker, then gasped. Jean was standing directly behind where the locker door had been. "Gawd, Jean, you scared me. What's in the grocery bag?" 

Jean grinned broadly and seized Kitty's arm with her free hand. "Come with me." 

  
"Go down there?" Kitty gulped, peering down the dim alley that Jean was pointing at. The place the older girl had dragged her to wasn't exactly the nicest place in town. "Alone?" 

"Yes." Jean shoved the laden paper bag into Kitty's arms. "You wanted to be popular, didn't you? Now scoot, young lady." 

Kitty took a deep breath and crept into the alley. _I'm gonna get mugged. I'm gonna get mugged._ Halfway down, she turned around to give Jean a pleading glance, but the redhead only glared. Cringing, Kitty turned the corner. 

Several dirty faces swiveled around to stare at her. The youngest was a tiny toddler, the oldest were wrinkled crones, but each face was thin and haggard. Some of the dull eyes brightened at the sight of the paper sack in Kitty's hands, and she held it out at arm's length for them to take. Immediately they began rifling through it, pulling out various foodstuffs and necessities; some of them laughed, others cried, with gratitude. Kitty was suddenly surrounded by a pack of admirers, the children petting her, the adults thanking her. 

One wizened old woman pointed at the Star of David around Kitty's neck, and smiled a smile that was missing a few teeth. "Juden," she said, and pulled up the sleeve of her worn wool overcoat to reveal a series of tiny blue numbers stamped on her forearm. 

Kitty stared wildly about herself, nearly overwhelmed by the scene and a flood of emotion. "I - I don't …" 

Then Jean was beside her, steering her gently out of the alley, back onto the street. Kitty found herself weeping and clutching the other girl's sleeve. "How could I - oh, how could I have been so selfish? I'm a rotten brat, Jean!" 

"No, no," Jean soothed. "You aren't. You just didn't know. I wanted you to think about - I'm sorry, Kitty; I didn't know it would do this to you. I'm sorry." 

"No - it's totally okay." Kitty wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Thanks for showing me. Ignorance is, like, bliss or whatever, but knowledge is totally power, right?" 

"Right." Jean gave her a reassuring smile. 

"Cool. So, do you have a makeup compact? I don't want to run into any football players with my mascara all runny, you know?" She laughed as Jean rolled her eyes. "Just kidding. Come on, let's get home - I've got a Christmas present to work on." 

  
When Evan woke up the next morning, there was an envelope with his name on it shoved under his door. Interested, he examined the contents while preparing for school. 

The first thing was a picture printed on computer paper. It was computer-generated, Evan realized, and it showed a beaming Spyke with one foot on a sprawled, grimacing Pietro's back. He laughed, and looked at the other piece of paper. 

This one was a letter, and Evan sat down, t-shirt in hand, to read it before finishing his morning preparations. 

_Dear Evan_

_Hope you like the picture. My friend Doug helped me make it during free period in Comp Sci. _

Now, I know you wished to be able to beat Pietro at something. But I'm here to tell you that you already did beat him at something - the big something, as a matter of fact. 

You chose good, Pietro chose evil. You chose right, he chose wrong. You chose the X-Men, Pietro chose the Brotherhood. 

Evan, you decided to fight to protect all people who need you - not just those who share one or two crummy genetic factors. That makes you a hero - something Pietro will never be - and I am very glad to be able to serve on the same team as you. 

Peace and love, Kitty 

Evan tried to squash the warm-and-fuzzy feeling; it wasn't good for his image. Quickly he dashed off a note of his own: 

_Kitty, _

Thank you. You're pretty cool to work with yourself - especially considering you're a freshman and all. 

He would have time to stick it under her door on his way to breakfast. 


	4. 4

Reaching his seat in his English class, Sam was only slightly surprised to find a package loosely wrapped in brown paper on his chair. Opening it, he found a handsome blue, green, and white wool plaid scarf. 

Not plaid, he realized suddenly, it's tartan! His eyes jumped to little Rahne Sinclair, sitting placidly at her desk near the front of the room. _Hm …_ Sam smiled. _Three guesses who this Secret Santa o' mine is - and the first two don't count._

His smile grew wider. _This could be the beginning of a bee-yoo-ti-ful friendship …_

  
Later that day, Rahne was just finishing up the last of her French homework when a knock sounded at her bedroom door. "Come in," she called, expecting to see Kurt enter with a homework problem. 

But it was Scott who entered, not Kurt. _A surely hope he does nae want my help with his trigonometry!_ "Good e'en, Scott." 

"Hi, Rahne." He sat awkwardly on her bed, fiddling with the small package in his hands. 

"Wha's tha' ye've got?" 

"Oh …" He handed it to her. "It's for you." 

Neatly she slit the package open and folded back the gaily colored paper. To her delight, it was a carefully framed X-Men team picture. "Oh, Scott, how nice! Thank ye!" 

"You're welcome. I just wanted to say - I know how you feel - about wanting a family, I mean. And I wanted to tell you - the X-Men will always be there for you. We'll be your brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers - whatever you need. I'm there for you." With these last words, he stood and gave her a quick, gruff hug, then retreated out the door, apparently having decided he'd displayed enough emotion for one day. 

Rahne smiled and shook her head, watching him go, then turned back to the scrap of paper on her desk. 

  
_Dear Santa, _

I would be much obliged if you could somehow convince Miss Rahne Sinclair to forgive me for hurting her feelings. 

  
Rahne sighed. "Och, Sam Guthrie, ye should nae have joined the Brotherhood. But, saints preserve me, A'll abide by yer wishes, Jean - and yers, Lord." 

  
"Kurt, Ah-" 

"Rogue, I was-" 

They both laughed and blushed. "Go ahead," said Kurt finally. 

"No, you first," said Rogue. 

"Ach - um - vell …" He shuffled his feet. "It is like this, Rogue. You are like my sister, and I am sorry I have not been there for you all the time like I should have been." 

"Kurt-" 

"Nein, let me finish. I vould like to let you know, that vhenever you need a brother, you know vhere to find me. And, vhile I cannot take avay the power that you have been given …" He gave her a hug, then placed one of his gloved hands on her forehead and kissed the back of it. "I vill do my best to be the best brother I can be anyvay." 

Rogue smiled back at him, tears glinting dully in her eyes. "It's one a' the best presents Ah've gotten, Kurt. Ah couldn't ask for a better little brother. Now come on!" She grabbed his wrist. "Ah've got somethin' ta show ya." 

  
The hospital room was pale and wan, and a number of large, blocky machines whirred boredly in the background. There was a strange smell present; not of death so much as of dying. Rogue dragged Kurt through the door. 

"There's someone Ah want you ta meet." 

Kurt bowed politely to the lined, grey face on the pillow. "Ma'am - it is an honor." 

"Vhat is this, Rogue? Somevun from the old country?" 

Kurt straightened attentively. "Germany, ja?" 

"Ja!" The elderly woman struggled to sit up a little higher in bed. 

"Go on, Kurt," Rogue urged. She grabbed his wrist, grinning mischievously. Kurt's image inducer fizzled out. 

"Rogue - vhat?!" Kurt turned, horrified, to his bed-ridden new acquaintance, but she only smiled beatifically up at him. 

"Kurt, Frau Silber is blind," Rogue said. 

"Almost blind," the old woman said with a tinkling laugh. "Not qvite yet. But come sit by me, bitte, young man, and talk to me of home, vill you not?" 

"Ach, ja, I vill." She looked blissfully in the direction of the sound of his voice, and he met Rogue's sparkling eyes over her head. _Thank you, mein schwester,_ he mouthed. She nodded, bid the old woman a friendly farewell, and slipped out the door, leaving Kurt and the frau to lose themselves in their native tongue and in stories of the place they had once called home. 


	5. 5

Sam tugged his new scarf tight around his neck and slammed his locker door, then turned, only to find himself face to face with Rahne Sinclair. 

_Well, face to chest, at least,_ he amended, hiding a grin at the thought as he looked down at her. "Afternoon, Miss Sinclair. How are ya today?" 

She twisted her mouth wryly. "Dinnae toy wi' me, Sam Guthrie. A know ye've figured me out." 

"Ah see." He lifted his schoolbooks. "Care ta walk with me?" 

"A suppose." She followed him down the hall and down the front steps of the school. "A want ye tae know … A've treated ye atrociously, A know, an' f'r nae good reason a' all. Can ye find it in yer heart tae f'rgive me?" 

He lowered his head and laughed. "Funny, Ah thought Ah asked ya the exact same thing." 

"Och, Sam, ye've nae reason tae want my f'rgiveness. Ye've done nothin' wrong." 

He shook his head. "Miss Sinclair - Rahne? - Ah owe three people a very large debt. Two of 'em are Todd Tolensky and Pietro Maximoff … and the third is you." 

"Wha'? Ye dinnae owe me a thing." 

"Yes, Rahne, Ah do." He stopped and looked at her seriously. "The three of y'all all risked life and limb ta save me. Ah just … incurred a little more debt from the two of them. Ah'd like to join yer X-Men someday, Rahne. But Ah've got ta pay mah debts first. Ah've got ta do what's right." 

"Mebbe ye should dae wha's right f'r _ye_," she said. 

"Rahne, Ah-" 

She raised a hand. "Och, A'm nae askin' ye tae change sides now. But A'm askin' ye tae think aboot wha' ye're doin'. If there's anything ye need tae be f'rgiven f'r, it's tha' ye've nae been true tae yerself." 

"Thanks, Rahne." He smiled wearily at her. 

Her mouth began to curve up, too, in response; then her eyes snapped down to his plaid shirt. "Glory be, Sam, ye've f'rgotten yer coat and gloves! It's nigh on freezin' out, tae! Come on, A'll walk wi' ye back tae school sae as ye can get it." 

He caught her wrist. "Rahne, Ah don't have a coat. Or gloves." He coughed and ducked his head under her shocked stare. 

"Sam, whyever nae? Does it nae get cold in Kentucky?" 

"We couldn't afford one f'r me," he muttered. The tips of his ears had turned bright red. "The little ones needed 'em more." 

"Och, Sam …" Rahne's wide, sensitive eyes were filling with tears. "A did nae know …" 

"Golly, don't go cryin' on mah behalf." He shrugged nervously; it distressed him to see a woman in tears. _God knows Ah saw Ma that way far too often._

Rahne blinked rapidly. "And look a' me, silly bairn tha' A am! Come here, we'll nae have ye walkin' home in the snow like tha'." She briskly pulled the blue woolen cap from her head and tugged it down over his still-red ears, then handed him her left glove. "Come on, take it," she urged. 

Confused, and now a little cowed, he took the wool garment from her and put it on his hand. Instead of handing him the other glove, though, she slipped her warm, bare little left hand into his ice-cold right one. Shocked, he stared down at her. 

She laughed gaily at his look. "Come on, let's get ye home before ye die o' pneumonia." And he let himself be dragged down the street, feeling much warmer than the heat of her hand should have accounted for. 

  
At the front gate of the Brotherhood's boarding house, Sam gave her back her hat and glove. "Sae ye'll be spendin' Christmas here?" she asked, looking at the dilapidated building behind him. 

"That's right." 

"Why dinnae ye come to Muir Island with Kurt and A? A know Lady Kinross would nae mind the extra comp'ny - A'm sure she would enjoy it, in fact." 

"No, thank you." Sam took a step away from her, toward the gate. "It's a kindly offer, t'be sure, but Ah … Ah wouldn't feel comfortable. If ya know what Ah mean." 

"Yes - yes, A suppose A do." Rahne touched his arm. "Have a happy Christmas, then, Sam Guthrie." 

"You, too, Rahne Sinclair." And he watched her trot away down the street, back toward the better part of town. 


	6. 6

Moira set down her tray piled with Christmas biscuits and mugs of eggnog. "Here we are, now, children!" Kurt and Rahne, laughing, dug gleefully into the goodies. Moira herself sat to one side, enjoying the sound of the young ones' cheerful banter. How lovely it was to sit in her home and survey the colorful disaster of wrapping paper and listen to the happy sounds of the two teenagers' voices. 

"Oh, Rahne, I almost forgot!" Kurt exclaimed suddenly. "The strangest thing … somevun left this in my locker with a note asking me to give it to you." He fumbled around in his pajama pocket for a moment, then produced a small wad of newspaper and duct tape. "Here you are!" 

He presented it to her with a flourish. Moira watched with interest as Rahne pried it open and dumped out the contents. "A piece o' coal? Have ye been naughty or nice this year, Rahney lass?" 

Rahne didn't answer, but unfolded the little piece of paper that had fallen out with the coal. Moira saw the color drain from her adopted daughter's face, then return in triplicate. 

"Let me see, let me see!" exclaimed Kurt. "Vhat does it say?" 

Rahne jumped and pressed the letter to herself. "None o' yer business, Kurt Wagner," she said frostily. "It's far beyond a big hairy lump like yerself anyhow." 

"Vhy, you-!" Laughing, he jumped at her, all six fingers tickling. Moira caught the letter as Rahne, shieking with laughter, started chasing her friend around the room, and read. 

  
_Dear Rahne, _

As you might have guessed, I found this near the mines one day and decided to pocket it for a keepsake. What you may not know is what it is: a diamond. I think it's a lot like me. One of these days, I'm going to be under enough pressure, get hit in just the right spot - and then I'll be on your side. Until then I'm stuck in the rough. Thanks for caring about an ugly old lump of coal. 

Yours truly,  
Samuel Guthrie 

  
Moira smiled wisely as she replaced the letter where it had fallen and settled back to sip at her eggnog while Rahne and Kurt's antics continued in the background. _Rahne an' Sam. Has a nice ring tae it. And since Kurt's affections seem tae lie elsewhere …_ She considered soberly the creased photograph of little Kitty Pryde on the boy's nightstand. _But if A recall correctly, the lad chose the Brotherhood. This could be a hard thing tae handle … but maybe it could also bring those poor rough boys together with Charles's flock. And if anyone can dae it, it's my Rahney._

  
~Fin~ 


End file.
